


To Kill a Wolf

by CommonEvilMastermind



Series: Witcher Crossover [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, I'm a sucker for saving childrens, Post-breakup, Rescue, Spoilers for Trespasser, cause the mire is actually crookback bog, don't need to have played the witcher, fuck crookback bog, fuck the mire, saving a kidnapped solas, technically a crossover with the witcher, warrior lavellan fixes everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 11:56:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5927482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommonEvilMastermind/pseuds/CommonEvilMastermind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Solas vanishes in the Fallow Mire, Lavellan must scour the bog for her wayward apostate. She expects the usual: spirits, corpses, the occasional demon. What she finds are things far older - and much, much worse. She strikes a deal. Solas' whereabouts in exchange for the head of a very certain wolf...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Search

She had lost her apostate in the Forgotten Mire.

Lavellan was not amused.

“I hate this place,” she said, making the pronouncement roll with the weight of an Inquisitor’s Declaration. The pools of the swamp paid her no mind, nor did the bugs. One flew inside her ear, and she swatted at her head. “ _Fenedhis_.”

She had not been properly dry in five horrible days. Five days since she had woken to discover Solas’ bedroll empty. His pack was there, but his staff was gone. He had vanished into the swamp. So now she searched – leather soaked, food low, armor unbearably heavy.

Most of her fresh water had gone with Cassandra and Varric. A scratch on the Seeker’s arm had started to fester in the putrid air of the swamp. Without their mage to banish the infection, Cassandra’s fever rose.

She sent them back and walked onwards, alone. Solas was gone, but she would find him. Needed to find him. He owed her, had promised her answers. She planned to claim them – and, hopefully, the remains of her heart that she had foolishly left in his care.

So she searched the bog, muscles burning as she pulled her heavy shem boots through the mud. The first few days were predictable – corpses and wraiths, the occasional demon or two. But on the fourth day she blinked, shook her head. Was she hallucinating?

There were brightly-colored sweets hanging from a tree.

Lavellan drew closer and poked at them suspiciously with her broadsword. They swayed cheerfully, as one would expect a string of candies to do. There were heart shaped, red-and-pink cookies, blue globes of spun sugar, and little green spirals that smelled of mint.

She blinked again. The candies did not disappear.

And there was another string, just beyond, dancing cheerfully in the fetid air. And a third, behind her, tied to a rotten post. It was a trail, a trail of sweets in the mire – leading westward, to the plains, and east. Further into the swamp.

She took a deep breath, sheathed her broadsword, and went east.

It was faster going. The candies marked a trail that wove from dry clump to dry clump, avoiding the pools and the deeper mud-sinks of the bog. Birdsong grew faint, then disappeared. The only noises were the sucking of her boots through the mire.

But then she heard laughter. A child’s laughter. Then another – children, laughing and shouting, voices ringing through the air. Lavellan put on a burst of speed as she glimpsed something down the path – a flash of red? A house? It was a house, houses, little huts arranged around a grassy clearing. And in the middle, running in the sunshine, were _children._

They had noticed her. She had not been quiet. For a moment, they stared at each other. She swallowed, taking stock – they were young, for the most part, none yet close to their second growth. Shorter than her breastbone. Then she sucked in a breath because three of them were _elves-_

The smallest elf ran over to the edge of the grass and cupped his hands around his mouth. “HI!” he shouted.

“Gaven!” the oldest girl shushed, marching up to him and snatching his hand.

Gaven was undeterred. “HI! ‘oo are you?”

“Hello,” she smiled, (hopefully) unthreatening. “My name’s Lavellan.”

“Lavellan?” The other boy – human, with sandy-brown hair – wrinkled his nose. “That’s a funny name.”

A red-headed elf girl stomped on his foot. “It’s not a funny name, it’s an elf name.”

“Oww!” the boy said. “Elf names are stupid.”

“Your FACE is stupid!” The red-head snapped, hitting him. The boy wailed.

“Ben, Red, shut UP,” the oldest girl snapped, unheeded. She had deep brown skin and a wild mass of crinkly black hair that hid her ears. The shape of her face was undeniably elven.

Lavellan squatted down, ignoring the deep ache as her weary thighs protested the movement. Gaven was still grinning at her wildly from under a thatch of blond hair. “Hi!” he said again.

“Hello,” she smiled. “What are you all doing here? Where are your parents?”

“We don’t got parents, stupid,” the hapless Ben said, lying in the mud. “We’s orphans.”

Red, sitting on his back, rolled her eyes. “No, you’re an orphan, stupid. Gaven and Sunshine an me, we got parents.”

“Where are they?” Lavellan said.

“They didn’t want you,” Ben said “‘cause you got-“

“ _Shut up.”_ Sunshine scowled at Lavellan. “Why are you here?”

“I’m looking for a friend of mine,” Lavellan said. “Have you seen him? He’s an elf, like me, tall, and bald.”

Sunshine shook her head. “You’re the first grown-up who’s been here in _forever._ ”

Lavellan blinked. “You live here by yourselves? Who takes care of you?”

“The Ladies,” Ben said, wriggling free. “They’re nice, they give us all sorts of food, I never had so much food before-“

“And sometimes Sunshine makes us go to bed,” Red scowled. “But there are no grown-ups, only kids!”

“Yeah!” Gaven said. “Yeah! Kids!”

“Would these… Ladies have seen my friend?” Lavellan asked.

“Probably,” Sunshine shrugged. “The Ladies know everything.”

“Will you take me to them?”

“First,” Red said, standing, hands propped on her hips. “You gotta play with us.”

“Yeah!” Ben jumped up. “Yeah! You gotta play!”

“Play, play play, play!” Gaven bounced, hair in his eyes. “Play! Play ‘ellen!”

“And then you’ll take me to these Ladies?” Lavellan said warily.

“Whoo ooh, over here!” Ben called, waggling his fingers in his ears. “Come and catch me!” The other children shrieked and scattered. Lavellan gave a long sigh as she hauled herself to her feet. Running after children in wet boots, humid air, and heavy armor. This was going to be fun.

Surprisingly, it was.

She would roar in mock-ferocity and chase them around the grassy field. When she caught one, she would tickle them before throwing them over her back and marching to a spot in front of one of the huts.

“You stay there,” she said, waggling her finger. “No escaping.”

So, of course, as soon as her back was turned, they would dart away. She then discovered the escape with feigned outrage and begin the chase again.

Gaven, on his little legs, was laughing so hard that he couldn’t get very far. When she picked him up, he felt lighter than air. Ben liked to dart too close to tease her, then get caught on purpose. He shrieked with glee when she tickled him.

Red was blazingly fast, taking cover behind the huts, or hiding in the tall grasses. Lavellan caught her rarely, and then only with trickery and luck. Sunshine liked to call out to her from across the field, then dash away at the very last second. She laughed the loudest of them all.

By the time the game ended, Lavellan had discarded her armor, her sword, and her boots. She lay sprawled on the grass in her linen shirt and trousers, Gaven dozing on her chest. The others had collapsed in a pile, catching their breath.

“That was fun,” Sunshine grinned. “No one ever played like that at home.”

“Do you come from a clan?” Lavellan said. “How did you end up here?”

“Kicked us out,” Red said proudly, kicking her heels in the grass.

“Red and I come from different clans,” Sunshine said, rolling her eyes. “We have magic. But they already had Keepers and Firsts and Seconds, so they sent us to the Trail.”

“The Trail?”

“Yeah, stupid, the Trail of Treats!” Ben sneered. “Didn’t you see it when you came here?”

“Ben is a war orphan, found his way by accident,” Sunshine said. “And Gaven came with his sister – we think their clan was out of food, so their Keeper sent ‘em down the trail. But his sister died.”

Lavellan regarded the boy, who was snoring very loudly for a creature so small. He was curled up on her chest, light and warm. She ran her hand through his hair.

“And you’re safe here?” she asked. “The swamp is dangerous – there are undead, demons, monsters.”

“The Ladies keep us safe,” Sunshine said. She peered at the Inquisitor. “I guess you want to go see them now?”

“Yeah,” Lavellan sighed. “I need to find my… friend.” Friend, heart, advisor, companion, beloved, betrayer. Her stupid-ass wayward apostate.

She sat up carefully and handed Gaven off to Ben. The tiny elf muttered, but did not wake. Her armor was warm from the sun, but each piece felt a little too heavy as she strapped it on.

She did not want to leave the children here, alone in the mire. Ladies or no ladies.

Sunshine led her to the door of the largest hut. “They’re in there,” the girl said, biting her lip. “They don’t like grown-ups much.”

“I’ll be very polite,” Lavellan promised, shifting her broadsword on her back.

“’Kay.” Sunshine watched as she pushed the wooden door open and disappeared within.


	2. Bargin

Behind her, the door swung shut with a creaking thwack. Lavellan swallowed. The hut was filled with flickering candles, wax dripping down off of every surface and ledge. It piled into strange stalagmites on the floor. Hung in the center of the room, illuminated by the candles, was a large tapestry. The fringe on the borders stretched out, reaching and wrapping around the room, the dripping lines drawing the eye to the great scene in the center.

Three women, huddled around a basket. The first, golden haired, studied the knife in her hand. The second, tattered and bare, held something red and dripping, offering it to her sister. The last looked on, studying, blending into the darkness.

Lavellan swallowed. This was very much not her thing. “Hello?” she said into the flickering light.

“It comes to greet us, sisters,” came a voice from all around. It laughed musically. “And after it has played so nicely with our children.”

“They laugh and run and grow strong,” another voice answered, pleased.

“We know why it has come,” cracked a third. “It is looking for its heart. Is it sure it wants it back?”

“Hearts are terrible things,” soothed the first voice. “Much better without them.”

“I’m looking for Solas,” Lavellan said, ordering her knees to stiffen. “Have you seen him? He’s tall, an elf, bald-“

“It wants information,” the second voice said. “What does it have to trade?”

“We do not give such things for free,” muttered the third.

“I – “ Lavellan stood straighter, forced her mind into action. “There’s something you want from me, or you wouldn’t be asking.”

“Such a clever thing,” said the second voice.

“And what a tasty treat it has on its hand. Would it let us have a taste?” the third voice whined.

Lavellan did not like that third voice.

“We have a wolf problem,” the first soothed. “Trapped under a tree, howling, tearing! Such a rage.”

“We can’t get near it, snapping thing,” the second said. “But you could. Kill it, bring us its head, and we will tell you what we know of your lost elf.”

“Kill a wolf?” Lavellan cracked her neck – killing things, at least, was familiar ground. “And you’ll help me find Solas?”

“Yes,” the third voice hissed. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“I can do that.”

“Go, then. To the west of north” The door swung open behind her, and the candles wavered in the blast of fresh air. “Be quick.”

She escaped gratefully into the sunshine. What was that? What had that been? Perhaps Solas would know, once she found him.

Red bounced up and down as she emerged. “You made it! Did you find him?”

“Not yet.” Lavellan studied the sun and oriented herself. “I need to kill a wolf for the Ladies and they’ll help me.”

“Good,” Sunshine snapped, coming over to them with a still-sleepy Gaven on her hip. “We’ve been hearing it howl for days. None of us can sleep.”

Ben tugged on her elbow. “When you find your friend, will you come back and play with us?”

“I will,” she promised, and did not look back at the Ladies’ hut. The children watched her as she left the tiny clearing for the dark mire of the swamp.


	3. Choice

The tree, at least, was easy to find. It rose on a hillock, towering over the bog. It was huge, old and twisted by the weight of centuries.

And as the sun set, she heard the howling.

It pierced through the twilight, savage and snarling. A primitive part of her shrieked and demanded they run, now, scramble away in the fading light, leave the swamp and the tree and never mention any of it ever again.

But she remembered Solas, dug her heels into the earth, and kept climbing.

The tree topped the hill like a twisted crown, bare branches rattling in a cruel wind. Lavellan loosened her broadsword and regarded the ground skeptically – the wolf was under the tree? She stalked around the great trunk, making her way over the roots. They seemed determined to trip her up at every opportunity. Then the wolf howled and she jumped, slashing at the air, it was so close-

But nothing lunged from the shadows to attack. Heart racing, she peered forward – there, hidden by the shadows of the roots, was a hole. A tunnel that led underground.

Lavellan muttered darkly – a tunnel underground was a horrible place to fight with heavy armor and a broadsword. It was times like these she envied Cole, his silence and swiftness and daggers. And the ability to turn invisible on occasion, that came in handy. But there was no helping it – she set her pack to the side and, sword drawn, dropped into the waiting dark.

It was a tight fit. Her armor got caught in the tight space and once she managed to trip over her own damn sword. But the tunnel was mercifully short. It opened up into a dark cavern where there was nothing – no light, no sound. Just all-encompassing blackness. And, underneath, the deep silence of something large. Something breathing.

And six red lights blinked at her, fire-red in the darkness.

“Shit.” She scrambled back until her back was against a wall – a slimy, tacky wall, but a wall nonetheless. She held her sword out before her, but nothing came. Just the tiniest hint of a canine whine.

Lavellan hissed between her teeth and fumbled in her pocket. Heavy gauntlets were not made for rummaging in pockets, but she managed to flip a small fire rune out onto the dirt-packed floor. It was a tiny thing, but powerful, one of Dagna’s creation. It let off an orange-red glow. Not much. Just enough to see by.

Just enough to see the wolf.

It was massive, larger than her horse, and as black as the Void itself. One claw alone was longer than her palm. At the light, it opened its eyes – six eyes, red as flame.

“ _Fenedhis_ ,” she said. “You’re not just a wolf. You’re The Wolf.” All eyes regarded her. “Fen’Harel.”

It huffed out a great breath of air in acknowledgement. Not snapping at her. Not lunging. Another moment and she saw why – it had been ensnared in thick vines, thorns digging into its fur. They bit deeper with each movement. The wolf’s blood was dark, thick and acrid in the small space.

“Kill the wolf, they said,” Lavellan muttered to herself. “No mention that the wolf is Fen fucking Harel, King of Tricksters, God of Lies. _Fenedhis_. Can I even kill you?”

Fen’Harel just looked at her, then looked away. He lowered his head, closed his eyes. His ears were pulled back.

“ _Fenedhis_ ,” she swore again, and sank to the ground. What the fuck was she supposed to do? This was Fen’Harel, The Traitor, The Destroyer, bound and helpless at her feet. She could – but killing him? This was a Keeper’s job, and she was no Keeper. You can’t just fucking kill Fen’Harel, but –

“Why do you wait?” The Wolf’s voice was low and rough, forced through a mouth that was never meant for speaking. It shocked her, tipping her backwards with a crash of heavy armor.

“Fuck, you can talk!” she spat, scrambling to her feet. Then, considering, “Of course you can talk, you’re fucking Fen’Harel, that’s your – what are you _doing_ here?”

“I was taken by surprise,” he snarled bitterly. “Caught by the witches, tricked and trapped. And now, here, to be slain by you-“

“You know of me?” she gulped.

He met her eyes with all six of his own. “I know of you,” he said, and there was a layer of something unbearable in his voice, his gaze. He looked away. “You carry a piece of my orb in your palm.”

“Your orb!” Lavellan sputtered. “How did Corypheus get your orb-“

“A mistake,” he spat. “Now end me, if you have come to do so. I had heard you merciful.”

She was gripping her sword so tightly it made the leather of her gauntlets creak. “I don’t want to kill you,” she whispered.

The Wolf barked with dreadful laughter. “I know what the Dalish say of me, da’len. Do not lie. Kill me, and you will be sung of for generations – with or without Mythal’s brand on your skin.”

She touched her face, where once Mythal’s tree had branched proudly. With its loss, her clan would not have her again. And yet. “I don’t want to kill you,” she said softly. “You are the only god we have left.”

The Wolf snarled. “You need no gods. Least of all me.”

Lavellan ground her palm into her eyes. “I was supposed to bring back your head,” she said desperately. “So the Ladies would tell me where Solas went.”

The Wolf rumbled, low in his throat. “You should not have dealt with them,” he growled. “They are dark and twisted things, utterly evil.”

“They can’t be that bad,” Lavellan said. “They take care of all those children.”

The Wolf’s teeth flashed – a wild, feral grin. “And for what? Think. Even the Dalish tell tales of the Ladies of the Wood. Stories of witches and children and sweets.”

Lavellan felt the blood leave her face. “No,” she breathed.

“They are dark and twisted things,” The Wolf rumbled.

“You have to help me,” Lavellan snapped, mind racing. “I’ll free you, but you have to help me. We’ll get the children out, get them away, take them to the Inquisition. And Solas, we need to make sure Solas is safe, get him out of the bog – “

The Wolf was perfectly still, watching her pace. “Free me, and I will save the children,” he said. “Are you sure you wish the mage?”

“Of course!” she yelled, then pulled her voice back. “It’s – he’s...”

“He’s a fool,” The Wolf snarled.

“Shut up,” she spat. “Will you help me or not? Solas and the children for your freedom.” Not that letting the Dread Wolf loose upon the world seemed a particularly wise choice, but she was short on options. It would be fine. Probably. If not, she would fix it.

The Wolf looked at her again with that unfathomable expression. “I accept,” he said. “But you must not come with me. I will ride the wind, steal the children to safety – you are too slow. The Ladies will be angry. Stay here, and I will come back for you.”

She stuck out her chin. “I want to-“

“Stay. Here.” The command shuddered in her bones and she saw, for a moment, why they named him a god.

“I will stay,” she lied.

“Then I must go quickly,” he said, and she brought her sword down on the vines. They writhed, turning tacky with wolf blood, but she hacked away until they lay lifeless on the dirt-packed ground.

The Wolf rose to his full height, towering over her. He regarded her with those flame-red eyes. “Stay,” he said, and it was quiet, like a prayer.

“Go,” she snapped. He blurred around the edges, a dark wind that thundered through the room. He was gone.

Then she scooped up her firestone and made her way back through the tunnel, gathered her pack. She turned and went back into the bog.


	4. Harm

They captured her quickly.

She made her way back through the darkness of the bog when something erupted from the water. A thick, wet rope twisted around her waist and she shouted, hacking at it with her sword. More bound her feet, her hands, twining up her limbs until she was immobile. She snarled furiously, but her sword falls to the ground and was swallowed by the murk.

She howled in anger as it dragged her along.

The beast was wrong and stunk of rotten things. Its grip was nauseating, slick and hard, like muscles without their skin. They are living tendrils of flesh, heavy with unnatural weight. The rest of the beast is behind her. That scares her more than anything – she cannot fight what she cannot see.

Far too quickly, she spots the gap in the bog, the clearing where she played with the children, mere hours ago. The moon is bright overhead, stars twinkling obscenely.

She wishes they would go away. She wishes she could not see what waits for her there. There are somethings that are not meant to be fought. There are some things that are not meant to be seen.

The Ladies of the Wood are waiting.

They are old things, filthy, all rags and mud and ancient malice. One grins, and flies crawl from her empty eye socket. There are maggots wriggling. Another is huge, taller than any ogre, and her skin is riddled with deep fissures, cracked and bleeding. The last is thin, bitter, bowed and a chain of severed ears lays proudly around her neck.

“Hello pet,” one croons to the beast. “You have brought a treat for us.”

“A treacherous treat,” the largest says, voice low and dark. “It was meant to kill the wolf, not to know its face.”

“It did not know its wolf!” the smallest shrieks. “But it freed it, freed it, stole the children!”

“It should not have stolen the children,” the first says. “We are hungry.”

“All those years, so plump and sweet!”

“We wanted them, we _wanted_ them!”

“And now we do not have them.” One eye is small, bloodshot blue. The other writhes. “We have you.”

Minutes pass. She starts to scream.


	5. Help

“Wake.” The necklace of severed ears brushed her bare skin. Her eyes flew wide.

“The wolf is coming.”

“Charging to the rescue, of course. Poor thing.”

She will never forget the malice in that smile

“We want it to see.”

“We did promise, after all. Promise its heart. And we keep our ends of the bargain. Oh yes.”

“Oh yes.”

Her habit on waking is to take stock. What hurts, what pulls, what is bent or breaking or broken. Start at the toes, work her way up. She got as far as her ankles before she stopped, bile rising. It had –

She was –

Don’t think. Just survive. The beast still held her, suspended in the air. But the witches, the witches were distracted, watching the edge of the clearing. It was day, and the sunlight streamed down.

A wolf howled. It was the most awful sound.

Then it was there, tearing through the clearing – dark-fire pelt, claws wicked, eyes burning, hell-fire. Destroyer of Worlds, Dream-Eater, King of Nightmare, Lord of Thieves. But the witches cackled and the ground erupted in sickly orange runes. Fen’Harel-

Fen’Harel screamed, and his cloak of shadows melted away. It extinguished his fire, melted his claws and he staggered, shrunken-

until all that was left was pale, freckled skin, sprawled and broken on the ground. Fen’Harel looked up at her, and his eyes were storm blue.

“Now!” Solas shouted, and the forest erupted in chaos. The sky rained fire and the ground spat lightning. Arrows flew, steel flashed, and she was falling into a pair of strong, gray arms.

“Gotcha,” Iron Bull grinned, holding her to his chest while his sword swept and writhing tentacles fell from the sky. He barreled forwards, unstoppable momentum, and nearly threw her through the air.

More hands, smaller, strong, steadied her, settled her, and the world started lurching forwards at an incredible pace. “Safe, rescue!” Cole yelled in her ear. “Riding safe, red hart, carry her away. Don’t stop for anything! Get her out of the mire.”

Muscles, warm, bunched under her legs as her hart – her beautiful red hart – jumped across a fallen tree. She moved with it automatically, settling herself, Cole a steadying presence at her back. Cole, half-spirit, their lightest, fastest rider. Cole, taking her away from –

“Solas!” she shouted, and tried to grab for the reins, tried to go back for him, for all of them.

Cole dropped the reins completely, and the faithful hart rode on. “Snapping, scared, safe!” he said in her ear. “Get her free and go, all of us, run, run, out of the bog.”

“Solas-“ she tried to break free.

“Solas is safe,” Cole repeated. “Solas is coming.”

She slumped backwards. “Solas…”

“Has always been himself,” Cole said, matter-of-factly. “Always loves you. Bright, burning, breaking and waking. He meant to tell you, that night. But he got scared.”

She had no strength left but to mutter softly, “I think I’m going to kill him.”

Cole huffed softly. “He thinks that too.”

They broke out of the bog into the bright sunlight of the plains. The hart slowed, stopped, and she slipped off to one side. Hands caught her – Harding’s, small and rough. Cullen, a worried frown tucked into his armor. Tents and troops and healing hands pressed potions to her lips. She spat, yelling names that she missed, faces that she did not see. “Bull, Blackwall, Dorian, Vivienne, Varric, Cass, Sera! Solas, Solas!”

“They are safe,” Cole or Cullen or Harding said, over and over again. “They are coming.”

Some of the potion passed her lips. The world started to fade. She fought it, struggled, snapping.

“Enough,” someone snarled. Familiar voice. Familiar grump. “Vhenan, sleep.” Tetchiness belied by the gentle brush of a hand on her face, smoothing back her hair, cradling her cheek. “Sleep.”

She reached up, grabbed his hand, and let herself plummet into the void.


	6. Heal

He was there when she woke, much to her surprise. Some kind person had wrapped her hurts in soft cloth, laid her in a bedroll, snuggled her in blankets. He lay next to her, fully dressed outside her cocoon. The stars were bright outside the tent, lighting up his eyes as he searched her face.

Some things are meant to be seen.

“You’re here,” she murmured, sleep heavy in her voice.

He crooked an eyebrow at her. “I had little choice,” he said wryly.

Blinking, she looked down. She still held his hand. “Sorry,” she said, not meaning it. Neither of them let go.

“I expect you have questions,” Solas said.

“Yeah,” she said. “Where are the children?”

His laugh was a small puff of air. “Safe, in the camp. Upset. Wild to see you. The red-haired one broke in here twice already. The smallest boy wonders when you will come and play.”

“They’re safe?”

“They are,” he said. “What do you plan to do with them?”

“Uhh.” None of her plans had gotten quite that far. “Bring them to Skyhold. Teach them magic?”

“And how will you accomplish this? Are you now a mage yourself?”

“…I’ll ask you very nicely to teach them magic.”

“Ah.”

“Will you help?”

“Of course I will,” he said, cross.

“Good.” She smiled into the dark, having won.

“You still wish me to stay?” His voice came out small, vulnerable. Lost.

She sighed with effort as she rolled herself onto her side until she faced him. Ow. “Solas?”

“Yes?”

“Are you really the Dread Wolf?”

The answer, when it came, was the shattered voice of a broken man. “Yes.”

“Oh.” She processed, letting the pieces fall into place. “Solas?”

“Yes?” he said.

“Did you love me?”

“ _Vin, ma vhenan.”_ His voice cracked. Yes. Yes, my heart.

“Oh.” His body was stiff with tension, he would not meet her eyes. Did he think she would send him away? “Solas?”

“Yes?” he said, so vulnerable she ached.

“ _Ara sa’lath,”_ she said. _“Vhen’an’ara. Ara’esha.”_ You are my one love, my heart’s desire. My beloved. She smiled wickedly in the starlight. “ _Ara’fen.”_

He lay there for a single eternity, frozen. Then he let out a breath and she was holding him, his face buried in her shoulder. She kicked at her blankets until she could find him, pull him in until they were together in the warmth.

“ _Ane’fen?”_ he muttered into the snarls of her hair.

“ _Vin,”_ she confirmed. “ _Ara’fen.”_ Yes, my wolf. When they finally slept, she was smiling into his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen via the incredible fenxshiral. All errors are my own.

**Author's Note:**

> Because it's an Inquisition fic, we got a happy ending. Because it's also a Witcher fic, it should have gone much, much worse. I glossed over a bit of the wobbly bits due to lack of interest and deciding I didn't actually want to write really involved torture scenes.
> 
> Comments/questions/snide remarks always appreciated. Find me on tumblr at commonevilmastermind (general) or elvhen-inquisition (fic).
> 
> 5/1/16: There's now a companion piece, Black Wolf! It's the second work in this series, and features these hijinks from Solas' POV.


End file.
